Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
I count the passage of time in workouts, training, practices, and games—there are three of those, two of which are away before I see Heidi again.
Derek would break my knees if he knew how much I’ve been thinking about her. I tell myself that she’s his sister, which means she’s off limits when someone comments about our “Take a Chance on Me” duet in person or online.
She’s much more pleasing to listen to and look at than me, so she gets full credit for the popularity of the video.
Badaszek hasn’t said much more to me than hockey stuff during practice—reminding me not to crowd—to create space and to use the ice during different plays so I’m always in an advantageous position. To work on having more powerful transitions, especially when changing direction. He said to adjust the blade side of my stick a millimeter for shot-blocking. Seems like a small thing, literally, but it made a big difference.
Enforcers sometimes come with a reputation for making up for what they lack in skill with brute strength. Badaszek must know that’s not true in my case, otherwise he wouldn’t have picked me.
Truth be told, the Knights don’t really need a goon. All the guys hold their own.
Then again, our captain has alluded to Badaszek having an intuition for the game that’s unparalleled, borderline prophetic.
He anticipates plays in games before they happen and changes strategies because he senses what’s coming. The guy is too honest to cheat or swap insider info.
When asked by the press about his uncanny knack for calling things before they happen, his answer is, “There’s nothing new under the sun—or on the ice.”
The coach’s daughter, Cara, commented when I finally figured out how to upload the video to my account. I saw her after practice the other day, and she told me it was a good start, and then gave some suggestions for creating more content for my “Comeback Campaign.”
Social media isn’t exactly helping me battle my way back into position on the ice, which is just about all the matters.
Plus, I tried doing a video diary a few times but felt dumb.
What do I have to talk about? Sure, I could bang an audience’s ear off about Howe, Gretzky, Roy, or any of the other hockey greats all day. Or analyze plays from a recent game, cite my opinion on ref management of players and potential favoritism, or any number of controversial topics. That’ll make viral content but for the wrong reasons.
After watching the posts Heidi sent during her days with the Lions, I don’t think I could come up with such creative and substantial material. But I take a few photos of what I eat, record myself lacing up my skates, and other mundane things I dub, “A Day in the Life of an NHL player.”
But I’m hardly one. Badaszek hasn’t yet played me during a game and my study of Ted Powell feels more stalkerish than being his shadow.
However, I’ve already learned from him, including how to tighten some of my D-zone moves in certain formation strategies. He also is a king when it comes to the corners.
There’s room for me to up my game and I’ve been killing on-land training, crushing our practices, and taking advantage of optional skates since I haven’t had ice time yet.
Vohn Brandt, the assistant coach, saluted me when I came in from drills. He even said, Keep it up and you’ll be an opener . Meaning, I’ll start playing.
Not going to lie, I am an opener. Or was for the Generals, so it’s disappointing and humbling to experience what very much feels like a setback, joining the Knights. I’d already proved myself and was vital in winning games. Now, I’m back climbing the ladder. Ever try that in hockey skates? It’s not an easy feat.
I consider swinging by the Fish Bowl for lunch, but the team nutritionist is strict and I wouldn’t be able to say no to the Stuffed Potato Skin Pucks. They’re definitely not on the diet plan.
I might also have a hard time saying no to Heidi. Not that she’s asked me anything. More like what I said in the message the other night about wanting to make her smile.
It lights up her whole face. From our kiss in the rain to when she flashes it at Bunny, to when we were singing, “Take a Chance on Me,” it’s like each one helps heal her wounded heart a little more. Brings her back to herself, to a flourishing life even without Bunny’s father in it . . . maybe to a life with me.
Instead, I go to the market in town to get some groceries and make myself a boring protein-rich meal—my gains are good so I shouldn’t complain. Plus, being a responsible diabetic will hopefully ward off the inevitable vision impairment my doctor predicted.
I should probably also go to a furniture store. The house is practically empty. If someone were to visit, they’d be concerned about my mental health. Mostly, I hang out at Derek’s just like we’ve always done.
Unfortunately, I haven’t run into Heidi again and have considered messaging her a few times. Okay, every night. I tell myself I’m studying the Lions’ social media content to get ideas for my account, but really I’m just watching her skate, do silly dances with the Ice Kitties, and waiting for her to flash a smile.
Is it stalkerish? That’s not my intention.
Is it creepy? I hope not.
Is it a jealous bid to try to find a video of her and Trey to find out if they looked at each other the way we did while singing karaoke? Yes, yes it is.
Do I see them exchange a lovey-dovey look where they’re flirting with their eyes? Not. Even. Close.
From what I’ve gleaned, their relationship was a flash in the pan. It ended as quickly as it started. But that’s not at all what I should be thinking about while I help Mr. Rice under the hood of the old Dodge.
He says, “I’ve been thinking about a full restoration, but Mimi won’t let me dip into the rainy day fund or the money we’ve been putting aside for a cruise. You’d think, after all these years, we’d be able to take three cruises, but prices keep rising and it’s hard to keep up. We decided if we’re going to do it, we won’t spare any expense on upgrades. We waited this long, so why not go all out on the most exclusive ship with all the inclusives? I’ll take the five-eighth socket. I swear this bolt is seized up.”
“Want me to give it a try?” I offer.
Mr. Rice straightens and gestures for me to have at it.
He’s right, the bolt is tight, but I manage to get it off.
“My, you boys have grown up. I remember when I’d drive you around the farm roads in the back of this pickup and you’d always beg me to go faster.” He shakes his head. “Glad Mimi never found out about that.”
I make a lip-zipping gesture. “The secret is safe with me. I’ll take it to the grave.”
At the mention of secrets, he looks me over and plants his hand on my shoulder. “Son, I know you and your character. I’m certain that you weren’t involved in whatever nonsense got you suspended. But I’m glad to have you back home.”
Our gazes meet for a beat. A sense of relief I didn’t know I’d been looking for sweeps through me. He’s right, but I didn’t realize that I needed to hear it from someone who matters.
My eyes prickle at the corners. I give a quick nod and say, “Sir, thank you. That means a lot.”
He turns back to the Dodge and murmurs, “I know.”
I imagine he and Mimi—Mrs. Rice—knew all about my living situation growing up. I’ve never felt like a charity case. More like a member of the family, so when Mrs. Rice comes out and asks me to stay for dinner, I don’t say no. Never mind Nat’s nutrition plan. There is little better in the world than a home-cooked meal at the Rice family kitchen table.
After Mr. Rice and I get washed up, we set the place settings. It isn’t lost on me that it includes four and a high chair, so I’m guessing this means Heidi or Derek are joining us.
While Mrs. Rice finishes preparing the meal, Mr. Rice shows me his sports den, filled with hockey memorabilia that he’s collected over the years, including photos of me.
He whispers, “Don’t tell anyone I have Generals merch up here.”
I chuckle. “Next time I’m at the Ice Palace, I’ll get you some new stuff. ”
“I’d like that.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
As soon as I’m in Cara’s good graces, I’m going to get Mr. and Mrs. Rice VIP tickets. Each team does things slightly differently, but they do offer perks for friends and family. Since this one is all I’ve got, the Rices are in for a nice treat.
From downstairs, comes the sweet giggle of a little girl.
Mr. Rice beams. “Ah, there’s our Bunny.”
He bounds down the stairs as if this is the highlight of his day. Mrs. Rice holds Bunny on her hip and Mr. Rice greets her like only a doting grandpa can. Heidi is nowhere to be seen, but my pulse ticks up a few notches when I catch a whiff of her spring rain and jelly bean scent.
Moments later, Bunny sees me and begs to play Buckaroo, so I do. It’s mostly a bouncing game, and her smile is so much like her mom’s that a wave of nostalgia for something I never let myself want fills me.
Coming from a broken family, I hadn’t considered one of my own in much the same way I never played baseball because I didn’t do more than bunt during gym class. I have a strong ground game, not ball flying through the air at chest level skills.
Amidst Bunny’s gleeful giggles, Heidi appears in the doorway. Mr. Rice was right. We have grown up. Heidi must’ve taken a quick shower because her complexion is creamy and bright, her cheeks a bit pink. She wears an old Clarkson High School—home of the Red Hawks—crew neck sweatshirt. Her hair is damp and a bit wild.
“Hi,” I say, not trusting myself to speak more, otherwise it might sound a lot like, Can I kiss you?
“Hi?” she asks as if wondering what I’m doing here holding her child.
Unlike Trey, I’ve never boasted about the ladies loving me, but this kiddo does and won’t let me out of her sight. In fact, she insists I sit next to her while we eat. The meatloaf and corn salad with tomatoes, herbs, and feta is delicious, as always. We talk about our days. Mr. Rice is mostly interested in hearing about Knights stuff, but when Heidi tells us about her ideas for Bunny’s second birthday party, she has everyone’s full attention.
When we’re done, Mrs. Rice says, “You kids clean up. This little Bunny, Grandpa, and I are going to take our after-dinner stroll.”
Bunny runs to the door. I recall Mr. and Mrs. Rice always walking the dog through the neighborhood after dinner while Heidi and Derek tried their best to shove off the clean-up chore on the other.
“Some things never change,” Heidi mutters.
My gaze flicks to hers. Her expression glazes over and she sucks in a breath as if realizing what’s transpiring between us.
“Some things do,” I counter.
Her eyebrows lift slightly as if surprised and she quickly turns to the sink.
I tap on my phone and put on a music playlist, to which I recently added ABBA’s “Take a Chance on Me.”
“Do you want us to practice singing for our next viral video?” she asks as if already prepared with a No way .
“I wouldn’t object.” I want to ask if she’ll help me with the social media stuff, but more than that, I want to see her smile, to enjoy this task as mundane as it is together.
Scrubbing a pan, she says, “I’ve seen the video diaries you’ve been doing.”
“And you didn’t like them.” I dry a plate, wondering why I didn’t receive a little Heidi heart.
“Did you check?”
I nonchalantly shrug. I totally did .
“It’s a good start, but I think Badaszek might be looking for more pizzazz . . . and corn.”
“Recording the mundane moments of my life feels super corny.”
Heidi laughs, lighting me up inside and we swap corn pun jokes—it’s a Cobbiton thing.
She says, “That’s just it, I can’t take it too seriously.”
“The LA Lions stuff with that routine of all of you in black with gold skates, plus, those lightning effects was serious.”
My gaze pins her in place, conveying one simple message. I liked what I saw—let’s just say the costume was snug and sparkly.
Her face flushes. “You’ve been doing your homework.”
More like being a total dweeb and creeping the girl I have a crush on. “What crush?” I say out loud because where did that thought come from?
The pans clatter as she passes another one for me to dry. “I didn’t say anything.”
I shake my head. No, no, no. I cannot have a crush on Derek’s sister. Can I?
She’s off-limits. Don’t look and definitely do not touch . I’m all too aware of what happened to Trey.
But I’m not like him. I guarantee Mr. Rice doesn’t text him before games. How do I know that with such confidence? There is not a single piece of LA Lions merch up in his sports den. Not a whisper of Trey’s career, whereas I’m on the walls along with Derek when he still played, plus his trophies and other mementos.
My phone beeps, alerting me in a very specific way. My blood sugar is off, which is probably why I was entertaining the notion of Heidi . . . and me.
She turns off the water. “Everything okay?”
Yeah. Hopefully. I feel a little heady and it’s not only because Heidi is smiling. She is pretty. Incredibly pretty . . . and wearing an expression of concern.
She tips sideways. No, it’s the world. Scratch that. It’s me.
My blood sugar is crashing and the app is letting me know.
I didn’t time my insulin right today. But I do have glucose in my truck. I bump into the wall in the hallway as my vision blurs.
“Grady, are you okay?”
“Your mother’s carrot cake was a little too delicious and I shouldn’t have eaten the second slice.” The words slur slightly.
She searches my face as if trying to make sense of that and then her eyes widen, remembering something.
“Grady, sit down. I’ll go get you some soda. That’ll help, right?”
I slide down the wall as embarrassment pricks my awareness.
Speaking low, what she says filters toward me.
A booming male voice replies, “I’ll be right there.”
Then there’s the crack of an aluminum can before everything starts to fade.
My arms and hands become so weak, that there’s no way I’d be able to get a bolt off, not even with the correct socket wrench fitting. I try to grasp the soda can, but it slips through my fingers.
She brings it to my lips and tips it upward. I take a few big sips and everything slowly shifts back into hazy focus.
“What can I do?” she asks.
I scrub my hand down my face. “Forget that this happened. Don’t think less of me.”
She tucks her chin. “Grady, why would I do that?”
I gesture to myself. “The fact that I’m sitting in your hallway like I had one too many drinks, for starters. I’m sure you see enough of that at the Fish Bowl. ”
Despite my fogginess and my appreciation for the popcorn and Stuffed Potato Skin Pucks at her uncle’s establishment, I’d rather she not work there. I want her to be able to spend more time with Bunny and not have to hustle. A voice in my head says that won’t be with me. I’m not good enough—as displayed by this stupid weakness I’ll never be able to escape.
Another voice, this one audible, says, “Get off the floor, loser.”
A figure looms over me and then crouches down. Derek slides his arm under mine and hoists me to standing. He leads me to the couch and makes sure I lie down.
Derek says, “Good. You didn’t change your password.”
He must be on my phone. “Looks like your levels are back in the safe zone. But take another sip, just to be sure.”
I forgot that Derek knew the protocol, no less how to operate my app.
Slowly sitting up, I say, “Thanks, and I deserved you calling me a loser.”
“Yeah, because you weren’t minding your sugar.”
Talk about tough love.
Derek meets my gaze and grips my shoulder. “You alright?”
“Yeah. It’s passing.”
“Good. You can crash on my couch anytime, but you cannot crash on your blood sugar. Don’t let it happen again. I have to go video chat with my wife. We’re counting down until she’s coming home. Now, don’t scare Heidi like that again. I’ve never seen her so worried in my life.”
I’m grateful he lives only a couple of streets over from his parents. As he exits, he whispers something to his sister who stands in the doorway.
“Sorry about that,” I say, my voice sounding smaller than I’d like it to.
“I forgot you had diabetes. ”
“Sometimes I do too, apparently,” I say, trying to make a joke.
She sits down next to me on the couch. The old cushions are squishy and she sinks toward me slightly with her knee pressed against my thigh. That gets my blood flowing.
“Thanks. The drop came on faster than usual.”
She nods. “I don’t know what I would’ve done had something happened to you.”
My brows pinch inward. “Derek can tell you stories about times we’d be out riding our bikes and I’d forget to do my insulin, and he’d have to wipe me off the pavement. He’s a good friend to have.”
“For the record, I don’t think you’re a loser.”
“Thanks for that. Too bad half the hockey team and my coach do.”
“About that. Maybe I can help you. But first I have a question.”
Before Heidi asks, Mr. and Mrs. Rice return, toting a very excited Bunny, and tell us all about how they rescued a unicorn.
“We saved a unee-corn!” Bunny exclaims, gibbering about how it was in a tree and she climbed to the first branch with Grandpa’s help.
Mrs. Rice murmurs, “She has quite an imagination.”
“I saw the unee-corn, Gamma.”
Bunny hugs her mom’s leg and then leaps into my lap, begging me to play Buckaroo.
She gives me another recount of the unicorn rescue, all the while intermittently giggling while I bounce her.
Truth is, this entire family has rescued me, more than once. Thankfully, I’m not a dog. Not like Trey. Call me selfish, but he’s the real loser. He’s missing out on so much in this little living room right now. I vow to myself to be better about checking my sugar so I don’t miss it either.
Mrs. Rice tells Bunny it’s bath time. Heidi gets to her feet, but her mom insists she relax. Mr. Rice says he’s going to watch some hockey footage and invites me upstairs.
“No,” Heidi and her mom both say at the same time.
He frowns. “Why not?”
“The spicy peanuts,” they both say.
The frown deepens. “They’re just an after-dinner snack.”
“And they make you—” Mrs. Rice starts.
Bunny sticks out her tongue and makes a farting sound.
We all break into laughter and then everyone exits, leaving Heidi and me in the living room.
Alone.